#safe and decent shipping ONLY here xxx

[bougiebutchbinch]

friends, are we Safely and Decently shipping Stizzy in this chillis tonight

[daydadahlias]

alright jessica: 19, 13 (abt...let's go luke), and 3🧡

From Salty Asks <3

3. Have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion?

Oh absolutely. Wow so many people. Like lots and lots of people lol. I just don’t have the time, nor do I have the emotional energy to see opinions I don’t like all the time. I block a lot of people on this app, I won’t lie to you. I have at least twenty people blocked right now. If someone expresses outright dislike of any of 5sos’ significant others, I unfollow them. You can “not be a huge fan” of them without outright disrespecting them and slandering them. If they express hatred of the newer albums tbh, I unfollow them. If they think any of the 5sos slash ships are real, I unfollow them. I block any and all drama blogs I come across. It’s not hard to be decent and respectful, I think. And I just don’t tolerate that detrimental behavior in any way.

13. Unpopular opinion about XXX character?

I think Luke can be a top. Boo me now, I don’t care, I’m right lol. Top Luke should not be gasped at. It’s the same as my massive rant about bottom Ashton that I give daily. Top Luke makes just as much sense if not more as bottom Luke. And he doesn’t always have to be a submissive personality type in the bedroom? Have you seen the way this guy commands a crowd? He’s unreal. He’s show stopping. He has such incredible and real power. He’s not just a twink, jeez. I wish people would stop pressing the Twink Luke narrative. I’m not going to say I haven’t written my fair share of more submissive Lukes, but I have to say that’s not the only option out there, it’s just the most widely accepted one. People shouldn’t get upset when Luke tops in a fic or feel the need to point out how much they dislike it?? It doesn’t make sense to me. Luke doesn’t need to be a little sex doll that people pass around and fuck when they want like he’s a barbie. He has such true genuine charisma and strength on stage and off, and I think that should be portrayed more. 

19. What is the one thing you hate most about your fandom?

God, Anna, what don’t I hate about this place? That’s not even a rhetorical question lmao, I really hate this fandom. I always said I wasn’t going to get actively involved in it because I felt it was the most toxic place in the world to be. Twitter is a hell hole, Instagram is freaky, TikTok fans are delusional... A lot of the fans on tumblr are too graphically sexual for me. It was hard finding a place where I really felt comfortable in this fandom and there are still a lot of times that I really don’t feel safe here. I hate the 5sos fandom, no matter how much I love 5sos, and I’m unashamed to admit that. Obviously, I’ve made so many amazing close friends but as a collective unit... god we’re fucking batshit. We suck. 

[flutteringphalanges]

                            Stifling the Howling Wolves

Summary: “Quid Pro Quo, Agatha. Consider it a friendly gesture of sorts. You give me what I want and I’ll return the favor.” The Count offered her a toothy grin and even though she was safe behind the prison wall, the nun still felt a shiver run down her spine. “And what would that be?” She inquired, maintaining her calm, collected state. “I’d love to learn more about you,” he answered simply. “In exchange for your blood, I will tell you everything. Just a small amount. The offer stands.” She thought hard. Harder than she’d ever had. They were losing time. Mina’s life was in mortal danger. She had to make the decision now. “Okay,” she agreed. “You have a deal.”

Ship: Dracula/Agatha

Rating: M (may eventually be change to Explicit) 

“Silence of the Lambs!Dragatha”

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N:  Firstly, I want to say welcome! I'm so stoked to be taking on an idea like this! This is dedicated to @mitsukatsu because it's one of her favorite movies and she's been here since day one of planning this. Also almost all characters used in this story are from the show! I really love incorporating all of them in. Anyway, sit back, relax, and enjoy! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated -Jen 

                                                 Chapter One

                                                Budapest, Hungary

Agent Philip Sokolov wasn't at all bothered by the icy air as he stepped out of the black vehicle and onto the stone walkway. After all, he'd served in the British Royal Navy and knew the cold like the back of his hand. Adjusting the file folder in his grasp, the man's eyes fixed forward, taking in the sight of the large, stone abbey that lay before him. St. Mary's Convent of Budapest, Hungary. A decent sized monastery tucked away from society and the thrills of modern day life. Yet despite this, it hadn't taken him long to locate what he was looking for. Or rather, who.

"Do you really think she'll be able to help? She's a nun after all."

For a Mobile Surveillance Officer, Olgaren tended to stick out like a sore thumb. He was tall, towering nearly fifteen centimeters above the other man and quite burly. And on one or more occasions, his "mouth of a sailor" had gotten him in trouble. Despite this, he had been a reliable and loyal partner, probably one of the only people Sokolov entrusted his life with. But his skepticism on the agent's judgement that day wasn't exactly the most welcoming. Especially since he could very well be putting his job on the line.

"She's our last resort," Sokolov explained as they walked up the long pathway towards the main gate. "If there's the slightest chance she can get something out of him, I'm willing to take it." The two men stopped at the entrance, the former captain now holding the officer's gaze. "Agatha Van Helsing is our only hope."

Olgaren's lips pressed into a firm line, but he offered Sokolov a nod. Further questioning would have to wait. In front of them on the opposite side of the gate, a woman was approaching. Her face was round, framed by a white habit that fell against her dusty blue robes. Sokolov smiled as genuinely as one could as the head nun stopped in her tracks.

"I see you made it here safely," she commented, her eyes looking both men up and down. "The roads can be treacherous."

"We managed just fine," he agreed. "I believe we talked on the phone a few days ago? You're Mother Superior if I'm not mistaken?" Sokolov began to fish in his pants' pocket with his free hand retrieving his wallet. "These are my credentials. I'm from the United Kingdom's Security Service, MI5. Thank you for being so cooperative with us."

"I didn't think I had much of a choice," Mother Superior replied, unlatching the gate. "I must admit I am still confused as to your reasoning for coming here. Besides, of course, wishing to call upon one of my nuns." She took a step back, allowing them passage. "You must understand my concern seeing as our convent has no association with England."

"I apologize for the lack of disclosure. Believe me, if I could, I would answer your questions. But this is a matter of national security. My orders were to talk to Sister Agatha, and to Sister Agatha alone." He gave the woman a sympathetic look to which she merely frowned in response. "Does she know we're coming?"

"She's expecting you, yes." Mother Superior spoke, motioning for them to follow her. "I'll take you to her quarters. I believe she's in there now."

Sokolov had begun to notice multiple pairs of eyes watching him as he made his way down the cloister. Nuns had begun to appear, standing their distance as they whispered to one another. It made him feel strangely uneasy. It wasn't like they were going to do anything. If he had been in their situation, he'd stare too. Doing his best to stay focused, he met the head nun's surprising fast pace until they stood in front of a door.

"She's in there," Mother Superior nodded. "I suppose I'll leave you to your visit then."

The woman turned on her heels and walked away leaving both Sokolove and Olgaren to their own bidding. The taller man glanced over his shoulder before looking back at his partner with a shrug. Sokolov found himself absentmindedly readjusting the folder in his grasp before he raised a fist and gently wrapped on the door.

"Come in."

The door let out a soft creak as the man pushed it open. The room was small, simple with a bed, book shelf, and a desk squeezed into a corner. To Sokolov, it seemed to be a rather boring set up. Then again, this wasn't a lifestyle he'd have chosen.

"You look surprised."

Sokolov's attention turned to a woman, much younger than Mother Superior, sitting at the table. She seemed rather relaxed all things considered, her blue eyes bright, lips curved into a smile. When she stood up, the nun was the first to extend her hand in greeting. Sokolov took it and for a moment was a little taken aback with how strong her grip was.

"If I may apologize for being blunt, but might I ask why you are here?" Agatha smiled looking at either men. "I'm assuming I haven't broken the law. If I had, I think it'd be Hungarian authorities after me, not some men from England."

"No ma'am, you haven't done anything wrong," Agent Sokolov explained quickly. "My name is Agent Sokolov and this my partner-"

"Yes, yes, I know who you are. Mother Superior did inform me that you'd be visiting." The nun said with the wave of her hand. "But I'd like to know what brings you to here." She motioned around her as if to emphasize her point. "You've come a long way."

"Sister Agatha…"

"Please," the woman smiled. "Just Agatha will suffice. No need for such formalities."

"Agatha," the agent corrected. "I suppose there isn't a best way to jump into this discussion, so I'll get right to it. You are the distant relative of Abraham Van Helsing? The vampire hunter?"

"Something tells me you aren't asking me because you want to write a book." The woman replied after a long moment, studying both men's expressions. "Yes, Abraham was my great, great, grandfather. I am very well versed in his history."

"So you know about vampires?" The man ventured.

"Well yes." Agatha chuckled, looking rather amused as if waiting for the punchline of a joke. "But many people do, don't they? While I did grow up being told the legend of my grandfather, one can simply google about the creatures."

"What about Count Dracula?"

The smile faded away from Agatha's face, her expression changing to one of uncertainty. "What about Count Dracula?" As if suddenly concerned by the appearance of her bookshelf, she began to rearrange her books. "He was just a story. Just as all of the other ones were. He never existed."

"But you don't really believe that to be the case, do you?" Sokolov watched as Agatha seemed to hesitate, one hand resting on the wooden case. "Agatha, we're here to tell you that Count Dracula is in fact alive and is being detained in England. Has been for many years now."

She was silent for a moment. "That's not possible." Agatha turned, facing the agents once more. "Count Dracula was said to have died on The Demeter. His body was never recovered, but there was no evidence that he had survived."

"Dracula is a very intelligent and highly skilled man-if you even want to call him that," Olgaren frowned. "He was finally caught in England three years ago when one of his victims managed to escape. Jonathan Harker. When we were able to locate and imprison him at a highly secure facility, we believed that to be the end of things. We paid the Harker family a lump sum of money to remain quiet about what Dracula was and that was that. No need to get the public up in arms. Life had resumed to normal."

"Until very recently," Sokolov finished. "When new cases began to show up. Strange murders that, in a sense, mirrored Dracula's. But at the same time they were different. More...ritualistic. Agatha," he exhaled, looking directly into her eyes. "We believe we are dealing with another vampire. A serial killer at that."

He held out the case file towards Agatha. She eyed it for a moment almost hesitant before accepting it. Sokolov watched as she flipped through its contents, her brow furrowing as she studied the papers from within. After a while she looked up, closing the folder as she did so.

"So why is the MI5 coming to me?" The woman questioned, not offering the file back to Sokolov. "I'm not my grandfather."

"Dracula refuses to talk to anyone," the agent responded, looking from Olgaren and back to the nun. "We're hoping that maybe he'll speak to you. Because of who you are. We need to catch the killer before things get really out of hand and we think that Dracula knows more than he's telling us. That information in the folder alone is what we have on Dracula. If you agree to come with us, we can share with you everything that we can. You'll have our entire archive at your disposal." He inhaled, his tone almost pleading. "England needs you, Agatha. Won't you help?"

                                                         XXX

Agatha could count on how many times she'd ridden in a plane on one hand. Her most recent, being many years ago, when she left Holland to join St. Mary's in Hungary. As the plane took off, she relaxed in her seat and gazed out the window as the ground was replaced by the cloud covered sky. It felt surreal leaving the convent. Saying goodbye to her sisters she'd known for so long. But it felt even more bizarre finally having the confirmation that Count Dracula, her family's one true enemy, was alive. Something she had begun to give up hope in learning that was true.

"I want to thank you again for coming."

Sokolov's smile was warm as he took the seat beside her. She straightened up, turning her body to face him. Methodically, he pushed another folder over the tray table towards her. On the opposite side of the plane, Olgaren was fast asleep, snoring rather loudly. Doing her best to block the noise out, she took the file and opened it.

Agatha would be lying if she didn't admit that her stomach immediately twisted at the picture that lay before her. A woman, skin so pale it was almost translucent, was stretched across a long, metal table. Against her own better judgement, she flipped to the next picture. This time she was looking at the neck. At the flawless skin defiled by a set of sharp, fang like marks that dug deep within the flesh. Again she turned to the next image, feeling the bile begin to rise into the back of her throat. Right in the middle of the chest was a large hole as if something big had been shoved into it, penetrating past the rib cage and into the heart itself.

"Kathleen Piper." Sokolov explained as the nun took a moment to collect herself, closing the folder. "She was his second victim, found floating in the Thames. Completely drained of her blood. Based on the particles we found within her chest cavity, the object is always made of wood."

"A stake," Agatha said quietly. "He stakes them."

"We believe so, yes," Sokolov agreed. "Almost as if he is trying to keep them from turning. We don't understand his motive behind that. There's a lot we don't understand which is why we need you." He folded his onto the table. "We've dubbed him the Midnight Slayer. It lacks creativity, but he does only seem to kill at night. All of his victims so far have been young women."

"And that's the reason you've been led to believe he has to be a man?" The woman questioned, a slight frown forming on her lips.

"No," the agent sighed. "It's because the only detail Dracula ever offered up was that we were looking for a man. That's how we know the Count has more information on the case. Which is why we need you. Because maybe he'll open up more to you more than he has to anyone else." He exhaled, running a hand through his graying hair. "Because you're a Van Helsing."

She stared out the window for a bit, watching as the white clouds floated by. Just hours ago, she was just a nun. Living a quiet life, left to her own devices. But now she was being pulled into a horror of a mess. Chaos that involved Count Dracula himself. A monster she had believed to be dead after years and years of researching. And though she wished she could just turn around. Pretend that this never happened. Her curiosity, ambition, and aggravating need to do what's right overweighed that.

"I'll help however I can." She responded, finally returning her attention to Sokolov. "But don't expect any miracles."

The man chuckled at her words. "An odd statement coming from a nun. Aren't you supposed to believe in that sort of thing?"

"I'm not your average sister." Agatha with a small smile, watching as the plane began to descend towards the airstrip below. "Far from it."

"Well, I should hope as much," he agreed. "We certainly do need that." Sokolov sighed, leaning back in his chair momentarily allowing his eyes to close. "We certainly do."

[stcrsstripes]

g o o d people are like candles, they b u r n themselves up to give others light.

( trevante rhodes, fifty five, cismale ) looks like [ CLARK KENT ] is passing on the mantle of [ SUPERMAN ] to their [ FOUR KIDS ] with [ LOIS LANE ]! wonder what [ HE ] will do now with all that free time ! i hear they are affiliated with the [ HEROES ] and can be associated with [ SITTING ON A BACK PORCH, YELLS AT A PROTEST, SUMMER LEMONADE ] ! what an exciting life they have lived !

alright guys so here’s an intro that is way too overdue, but i hope you all like my interpretation of clark and feel free to message me for plots.

BACKSTORY.

1.) it’s the heat of the summer 1974, an alien pod lands in the middle of a field just outside of a small kansas town. smallville the town where superman would grow up. inside the pod was a small baby. kal-el the believed survivor of the planet krypton. the child’s future as a hero, or his past were hidden as he was found by jonathan and martha kent, who’s only concern was caring for the baby in front of them. they took him in, named him clark and began to raise him as one of their own.

2.) they did their best to ensure he had a happy, normal childhood despite his unconventional upbringing. regardless of this, clark was never going to be considered average. earth’s yellow sun granted clark powers an average human could only dream of. learning to handle those powers as a teenager with no one there to guide him is still considered by clark to be one of his most challenging feats, even though he might not admit to being scarred by just how lonely it was.

3.) it wasn’t until he was at high school that martha and jonathan chose to be honest with him about his origins. he had always known that he was adopted, but discovering that he was an alien was a little bit different. this however did not become the answer for clark’s troubles in the way in which they hoped it would. instead it was only the beginning of clark’s search for answers.

4.) clark had always been talented, ahead of the kids in his classes. gifted as his teachers claimed, especially in languages, in another universe he excelled at college becoming some form of mad professor who is well liked by his students. in reality however his heart was simply not in it. instead he went traveling, no matter how cliche, trying to find himself. this was also when clark began experimenting with heroism. using his powers to save people. 

5.) during this time clark discovers an alien ship covered in markings similar to those on the life-pod found by his parents. it was kryptonian meaning clark was able to use it to learn more about his home planet as well as the parents who sent him away to save his life.

6.) upon this futher realisation about his identity clark attempted to settle back down in smallville. this however ultimately failed, the world of farming and back porches just seemed too small given what he had seen. so her moved to metropolis, a big city not too far away from home and got a job at a decent newspaper as an editor. it was here that he would meet his future wife lois lane as well as learning that he could do as much good as clark kent as he did as superman.

7.) the name superman was an accident, coined by none other than lois due to the s shape on the front of his super suit. he was cautious at first but came to learn there are some things that are simply outside of his control and if the name brought people comfort then he was okay with that.

8.) in the years following clark helped found the justice league, saved the world, won a pulitzer prize, got married and had a few kids. the identity of superman has taken on a life of it’s own but that does not mean that clark has let up on trying to help people, trying to be the best of people. he is not alone anymore (quite the opposite now actually) but that spark to keep trying has not changed.

HEADCANONS

ok so kryptonians age at different rates to humans which is why clark still looks incredibly young, he always has an extended lifespan which is something him and lois are having to come to terms with now in a way they haven’t before.

clark is a hundred 100% ready to adopt someone so if you have a muse that needs some love then throw them at clark.

can sometimes get weighed down sometimes by the fact that he can’t save everyone.

his favorite novel is to kill a mockingbird and he still listens to country music.

really just deserves a slow morning with lois and his kids with pancakes and coffee and the world to just be safe for a little while.

LINKS

pinterest XXX. spotify XXX.

[turtle-steverogers]

Departed Chap 6 Pt 2

Ship: Slow burn Sprace

Warnings: Flashback type thing. Albert being a dumbass

Spot was shocked awake by the sound of loud banging at his apartment door. He closed his eyes, willing whoever was knocking to go away. It was Christmas morning for chrissakes, couldn’t he sleep?

The knocking persisted and he felt Race groan against his chest, “Spottie, go get that and tell whoever it is to shut the fuck up.”

Spot pulled himself from Race’s embrace and stumbled out of his bedroom. Whoever was at the door was still knocking.

“Shut up, I’m comin’!” Spot shouted. He opened the door and was greeted with Albert and Finch, both wearing reindeer antlers.

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas!” Albert exclaimed, smiling brightly.

“Albert Schuyler DaSilva, it is too early for you to-”

“We brought Christmas breakfast,” Finch cut in, holding up a dish with a basket of bagels balanced on top.

Spot held the door open wider, “I hope ya know m’only lettin’ you guys in cuz you brought food. Any other circumstance I’d have slammed the door in ya faces.”

“Oh, we know,” Albert said, making his way to Spot’s bedroom, “ANTONIO HIGGINS, GET THE FUCK UP! IT’S CHRISTMAS!”

“FUCK YOU, ALBERT!”

Albert walked over to where Spot and Finch were setting the table, “He’ll be comin’.”

Sure enough, Race walked out of the bedroom two minutes later, wearing an old Christmas sweater, “Hey, Finch?”

“Yeah?”

“Your boyfriend is awful.”

“I know,” Finch said, leaning over and kissing the offended look off of Albert’s face.

The four boys dug into the feast, “Y’all doin’ anythin’ today?” Albert asked, mouth full of cinnamon roll.

“Don’t eat with your mouth full, love,” Finch piped up.

Albert frowned and swallowed, “So are y’all?”

“We’re gonna go down to Rockefeller Center ta see the big tree,” Spot said, spreading cream cheese onto a bagel.

“We are?” Race cocked his head.

“Oh yeah, forgot to ask ya,” Spot said, “Hey, Race, wanna go see the big tree in Rockefeller Center?”

Race rolled his eyes, “Yeah, Spot, I’ll go see the big tree with ya.”

Spot kicked him under the table and Race laughed, “Anyway, yeah that’s our plan. What about you guys?”

Finch shrugged, “Nothin’ really. Prolly gonna watch some Christmas movies and make cookies.”

“You guys can come see the tree with us if ya want,” Spot offered, “I was thinkin’ of goin’ around 8 ish.”

Albert and Finch exchanged a glance, “Okay, sure.” Albert said, “Y’all are welcome to come make cookies with us before.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Race said, cheerfully.

The table was cleared not long afterward and Spot and Race went to get dressed while Albert and Finch relaxed in the living room. Spot tugged off his pajama shirt and pants, then rummaged through his drawers for a clean long-sleeved shirt. The door to the bathroom opened and Spot thanked the heavens that he was wearing boxer briefs at the moment.

“Oh shit, Spot, sorry. Shoulda made sure you were decent,” Race spluttered, turning an impressive shade of red.

Spot hastily pulled on a pair of jeans, “S’fine, man. S’not like you haven’t seen me in a swimsuit or somethin’ before.”

“Dude, Tae Kwon Do is makin’ you ripped,” Race blurted. His eyes widened when he realized what he had just said, “I am fuckin’ up so badly right now, so I’ma jus’, uh, walk out of the room.”

Spot watched, half-amused and thoroughly flustered as Race backed out of his bedroom. He blinked a few times to compose himself, then pulled on a grey sweater that he’d forgotten he owned before exiting his room as well.

“Cookie time!” Albert cheered. They made the short walk across the hall to Albert and Finch’s apartment. Upon entry, Albert and Race made a beeline to the fridge and pulled out two packs of Pillsbury Christmas tree cookies.

“These are better than drugs and no one can convince me otherwise,” Race said, ripping open a pack and placing them on a cookie tray that Albert had supplied.

“I agree with that statement and I’m a strong believer in weed solving all of life’s problems.” Albert said, earning a scoff from Race.

Spot and Finch sat in the living room as the other two boys baked the cookies.

“How’s Race been?” Finch asked after several minutes of comfortable quiet.

Spot shrugged, “He has his ups and downs. He’s still avoiding talkin’ about Melissa too much, which kinda worries me.”

“That’s valid, ‘specially after the way he reacted when she showed up at ya door like a freaky bitch.”

Spot scoffed, “That about sums her up- and yeah, she’s definitely affected him way more than he lets on.”

“I wonder if it’s not necessarily that he’s afraid of lookin’ weak or sum, rather he jus’ doesn’t wanna acknowledge that he went through somethin’ like that,” Finch said, thoughtfully, “I remember when Al was in that car crash n’ he lost his brother, he refused to talk about it for months. When he finally did, it was like he was truly acceptin’ it for the first time...God that was messy.”

Spot frowned, he remembered the several months following Albert’s accident. It had been their freshman year of college and for a while, Albert had seemed like nothing but a shell of the charismatic person he usually was. His brother, Henry, had been the closest person to him and losing him had near killed him. What Race had gone through had not been of the same nature as Albert’s experience, but it definitely had instilled a similar trauma into him.

“Yeah, it would make sense if it’s somethin’ like that,” Spot said, “I guess he’ll talk when he’s ready.”

“Time is all ya can give these kinds of thing,” Finch sighed.

“I suppose.”

Albert and Race came out with a plate full of cookies, “Movie marathon time!” Race said, “Albert and I made a list of the movies we’re watchin’ today. First is a Christmas Story.”

XXX

At 7:45, the four boys were gearing up to go. Finch had suggested they make hot cocoa to bring, so they all were carrying Christmas themed thermoses that they had found in the apartment.

“I’m so excited,” Race said as he pulled on the hat that Spot had let him keep after their ice skating excursion, “I haven’t been ta see the tree in years.”

“I’ve never been,” Albert admitted.

Spot turned to him in shock, “You’re tellin’ me you’ve lived in New York City all your life and you haven’t seen the big tree?”

“I’ve only been livin’ here since I was fourteen and I’ve been,” Finch added.

“My parents weren’t big on Christmas, okay? Not my fault,” Albert huffed.

Race laughed and clapped him on the back, “No worries, brother. We’re here to help ya lose your Rockefeller Center Tree virginity.”

“Why d’you hafta word things the way you do?” Spot asked and Race wrinkled his nose, pulling his scarf on.

They arrived at Rockefeller Center to find it bustling with people. The tree looked magnificent. It towered over the square, lighting it up with brilliant white lights. A soft blue glow was spread across the ice skating rink directly under where the tree stood, adding a mystical aura to the area. Spot glanced over to Race, who was staring in awe up at the tree. The blue glow reflected in his eyes, making them impossibly bluer. The lights from the tree reflected off his fair skin and Spot couldn’t help but think how beautiful he looked as he stood, completely enraptured by the scene before him. Race turned his head and made eye contact with Spot.

He smiled and reached out to hold onto one of Spot’s hands, “Spot, this is beautiful. I’m really glad we came.”

“I am too,” Spot said. Race stepped closer to Spot’s side and laced their fingers together. They stood, sipping their hot cocoa and taking in the sights and sounds of New York City on Christmas for what felt like an eternity.

Their peace was interrupted however by the sounds of several cars honking loudly. Race jumped, his hot cocoa mug slipping from his hands and spilling it’s contents down the front of Spot’s shirt.

“Shit! Ow,” Spot exclaimed, jumping backwards.

“Fuck, Spot I’m so sorry,” Race said, backing away, “I-I’m sorry, I-” His breath hitched and Spot looked up from his shirt to see Race with his eyes squeezed shut, covering his mouth with one hand. From where he stood, he could tell Race was shaking. He doubled over slightly and Spot forced himself to recover from his shock. He carefully walked towards where Race was standing, reminding himself not to touch him. People were starting to stare and Spot glanced around to look for some kind of cover. There were a few storefronts a little ways away that looked pretty vacant, so he decided to aim for those.

“Hey Race, canya hear me?” He asked, working to keep his tone soothing and not at all accusatory. Race didn’t answer and Spot cursed to himself.

Albert and Finch materialized by his side, “What happened?” Finch asked, alarmed.

“He spilled his hot cocoa on me,” Spot answered, his attention still directed towards Race, who was visibly crying now, “Racer, c’mon. Are ya hearin’ me?”

Race backed up another step, “I-I’m sorry,” Spot heard him whisper.

Spot stepped closer, “Antonio, I needya ta listen. C’mon, I promise I’m not mad and I’m not gonna touch ya. Canya please hear me?” Spot begged. He felt helpless.

Albert stepped tentatively next to Spot, “I think he’s havin’ like a flashback sorta thing. I used ta get ‘em after..ya know. Can I try to-” He gestured towards Race and Spot nodded. Albert walked carefully over to Race so he was standing right next to him.

“Race,” He said, softly, “It’s me, Albert. Jus’ me n’ you here. I promise that’s all that’s happenin’. Canya open your eyes, please? I promise, it’s Albert. You can open your eyes and you’ll be safe.”

Spot watched as Race blinked open his eyes. He flinched violently before making eye contact with Albert. The relief that flitted across his features broke Spot’s heart.

Albert continued, “Nice job, dude. Think we can move somewhere a lil’ quieter? I think that might make ya feel better.”

Race nodded and the two of them weaved through the crowd towards the storefronts Spot had noticed earlier. Finch and him exchanged a look before hurrying after them. They got caught behind a few groups of people and by the time they got to the other two, Race had stopped crying.

“You good, man?” Finch asked, sympathetically.

Race shrugged, “Yeah, m’better. Sorry ‘bout your shirt, Spot.”

“It’s okay, Race, I swear ta ya I ain’t mad or nothin’.” Race nodded.

“Why don’t we head back?” Albert suggested.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Spot agreed.

Back at the apartment, Spot waited in the bedroom while Race took a shower. He mentally replayed what Albert had done to help Race in case he’d ever have to get Race through a bad situation again, though he prayed to anyone who could be listening that he wouldn’t. Race emerged from the bathroom looking drained. He sat down on the bed by Spot’s feet.

“I want to talk about it. I want to share more than I have,” He paused and took a deep breath, “I need to talk it out, I know that I won’t get past it if I don’t. It just-” His voice cracked and Spot sat up to run a hand up and down his back, “It just hurts so goddamn much. She hurt me so goddamn much and I don’t wanna live it again by talking about it.”

Even from his space behind him, Spot could tell that Race was holding back tears.

He stopped rubbing his back and reached for one of Race’s hands, “Talk about it when you’re ready. I’m here to listen whenever that is. You’re not alone, Race. You’re not goin’ through this alone.”

“I’m sorry I ruined Christmas- and your shirt.”

“You didn’t ruin anythin’, Race. Nothin’ that happened tonight was your fault.”

Race gave a watery laugh, “What did I do to deserve you, Spot?”

“You deserve everything good, Race. You deserve support and help and love.”

Race didn’t answer. Instead, he gave Spot’s hand a squeeze and laid back against his chest. Spot lifted his free hand and carded it through Race’s hair. He began to softly hum under his breath until he could feel Race’s breath even out into sleep- finally looking at peace.

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[hpdrapery]

you make the edges less sharp

fandom: harry potter ship: severus snape/harry potter word count: 1904 also on ao3 and ffn

A determined Harry Potter is capable of almost anything, including finally making Severus happy. Christmas Snarry for the soul.

He’d always hated winter. Not that the other seasons were much better, really, since Severus tended to be miserable all year long, but winter was a unique form of torture. He could never get warm; the chill seemed to go right to his bones, no matter what. The sensation had only become more unpleasant since the end of the war, the lingering effects of Nagini’s venom making every ache worse. Aside from the weather, there were the holidays. Christmas, in particular, never failed to put him in a dismal mood. Cheerful gift giving and spending time with people who cared were things he’d never gotten to be a part of.

Most years, Christmas found Severus holed up alone, getting spectacularly drunk. The alcohol could muffle his less pleasant feelings for a while, and really, he couldn’t hope for much more than that. It was fine, until one year it wasn’t.

xxx

“I’m not letting you spend another Christmas alone,” Harry said, scowling in a way that Severus assumed was meant to be stern, but only served to make him look horribly, maddeningly endearing. How was it that even as a grown man, the one who’d killed the Dark Lord, he still seemed to have retained some sort of innocence?

“And why is that?” Severus asked, raising an eyebrow. “Haven’t you made enough attempts at saving me?” Harry rescuing him from the floor of the Shrieking Shack, and then sitting at his bedside nearly every day while he recovered at St. Mungo’s were both far more than anyone else would think to do for him. Sometimes in his dreams, he could still hear the younger man’s comforting words.

‘It’s okay...It’s okay now, Professor. You’re safe.’ Nobody had ever really spoken to him that way before, aside from Lily. Trying to keep as much of an emotional distance as he’d like after that was a losing battle. Harry had decided that they were friends, and after a few token protests, Severus had gone along with it, allowing them to get closer and closer. Once he’d noticed that first similarity, they just kept coming, until Severus realised that Harry had never been like James at all.

“...Severus, are you even listening to me?” Harry was frowning now, looking genuinely hurt that the older man wasn’t excited about his Christmas plans. How long had he been talking while Severus was lost in thought?

“Of course I’m listening,” he said with an automatic sneer, waving a hand dismissively. “I still don’t see what about my holiday habits is so objectionable, though.”

“Well, we’re friends,” Harry said with a shrug, starting to wander about the kitchen making tea as though he lived there. It bothered him a little, reawakening that persistent ache of loneliness. “I don’t like the thought of you not having anyone to celebrate with. The Weasleys would love to have you, really. Don’t you think it’d be a little better than sitting here feeling sorry for yourself?”

Severus stared pointedly out the window, so that he didn’t have to look at those beautiful green eyes. What was Harry playing at, asking him to join his adoptive family for Christmas as though they were in a relationship? There was a deer walking down the road, right in front of his house, and the ironic reminder of James and Lily was almost enough to make him groan.

“I gave up feeling sorry for myself a long time ago, Potter,” he lied, taking a seat at the table and watching as Harry poured the tea. He didn’t even have to ask how Severus took his anymore, yet another example of how he’d let this go too far. If he’d never let Harry embark on his ridiculous quest to befriend him, then maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess, pining after someone who would never want him.

“You deserve to be happy.” Harry sat down across from him, giving him a serious look. “You never let anyone in, not really. Do you even have any friends other than me?”

“Minerva and I get together for tea every so often, not that it’s any of your business.”

“I’m sure Molly’s already planning on knitting you a Weasley jumper,” Harry said seriously, taking a sip of tea. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint her by not showing up.”

“Do you really think guilt-tripping works on me, or that I would even want one of those jumpers?” Severus asked, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. The bright, garish colors characteristic of most of the jumpers really were ugly, he thought, but they did look warm, and nobody had ever made him something like that before. Maybe receiving one in black or even a dark green wouldn’t be so bad.

“Probably not, but it’s worth a shot,” Harry replied with a chuckle, one hand inching forward across the table to brush against Severus’. He thought he noticed a hint of nervousness in the younger man’s expression, but dismissed it. Surely it was just his imagination. “And I’d be disappointed too, if you didn’t come.”

That had no right to get to him as much as it did. One hand tightening around his own teacup, he let the other hold onto Harry’s properly, as he tried to keep from looking too happy about the affection.

“I’ll think about it,” Severus mumbled, wondering when he’d gotten so soft. He had to get over this once and for all, and preferably soon, before Harry entered a relationship with someone. No need to break his own heart more than necessary.

xxx

By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, getting out of going to the Burrow proved impossible. Perhaps he could lock himself in his bedroom, though that would be rather childish…No, best to suffer through this with as much dignity as possible.

“Don’t even think about it,” Harry said, having caught his glance towards the stairs.

“Let’s get this over with, then. Everyone is undoubtedly eager to see you, given how much time you’ve been spending here instead.” In the two weeks since Harry had first invited him to join the family for Christmas, he’d been hanging around his house even more often than usual, including spending the night. Severus complained, of course, but he still draped a blanket over the younger man whenever he awoke to find him asleep on the couch.

“Can’t you at least pretend to be looking forward to it? It’ll be fun, I promise. You’ll get to meet Rosie, too,” Harry said, shrinking down a few wrapped gifts and shoving them in his pockets. His face lit up at the mention of his goddaughter, and try as he might, Severus couldn’t muster up a single negative thought about how carelessly happy he looked.

“Ah, yes, because I enjoy meeting babies so much. You’re making this sound better and better,” he retorted sarcastically. Severus had never really understood why everyone got so excited about babies. He supposed they occasionally did something cute, but nothing to look forward to. Harry Potter holding a baby on the other hand...That, he could see the appeal in.

Before Harry had a chance to reply, Severus Apparated to the Burrow. Harry followed close behind, and as they entered the house together, Severus found himself already starting to tense up. These people had no fondness for him, no matter what platitudes they might have said to Harry.

As the hours dragged on, socializing with the extended Weasley family proved to be just as awkward as Severus had been expecting. Molly’s continual poking and prodding about when Harry was going to re-enter the dating world only made things worse. Even now, years after he’d broken up with Ginny, Severus could barely resist the urge to hex the girl whenever they spoke. Having to watch Harry infatuated with someone new seemed like it wouldn’t even be survivable.

xxx

Not long after Severus stepped outside for a few moments of quiet and fresh air, Harry followed him.

“Is it as bad as you thought?” he asked, seeming genuinely curious.

“Hermione is a decent conversationalist,” Severus admitted grudgingly, not lingering too long on how strange it still felt to call his former students by their first names. “And I’ll admit that the baby is...amusing.”

Harry was visibly trying to suppress laughter, and a quiet snort slipped out regardless. Taking out his wand, he cast a warming charm over them both, and pressed a little closer as a way of subtly offering support, as though that sort of casual intimacy was perfectly natural between them. Severus hadn’t even noticed that he’d been favoring his bad leg, still prone to pain and weakness from nerve damage, but apparently Harry had. He always noticed.

“I’m glad you came,” Harry said quietly, and those simple words served to warm Severus’s heart just as much as the charm. Everything seemed a little less harsh and miserable when he was the focus of that affectionate gaze.

“Me too,” he admitted after a few moments, taking a chance and slowly winding an arm around Harry’s waist. Severus couldn’t recall being so nervous in years. He could see the Daily Prophet headline now, ‘War hero dies of heart attack.’

“Is your leg bothering you?”

“Not as much anymore,” he said. If only Harry knew the effect he had on him in moments like this. Severus wasn’t sure there was a single other person in his life he’d smiled at so often. Not even Lily.

“Good,” Harry murmured. “We can go home soon, I swear. You don’t have to put up with everyone for much longer tonight.”

“Home?” Severus echoed blankly, sure that he sounded idiotic. Had Harry just called his house home?

“Er, well, you know…” Harry was fidgeting slightly, staring intently at the moonlight reflecting off the snow rather than at Severus. “I just thought...I’ve kind of been putting off trying to find a place, and I know Ron and Hermione are probably getting sick of me living in their guest room...and we’re...”

“Spit it out already,” Severus retorted, though with less venom in his tone than there would be for anyone else. “Do you mean to say you’ve invited yourself to move in with me?”

Harry blushed, tensing as though in preparation for him to explode at him.

“Presumptuous brat,” he grumbled instead, tone fond. “I suppose I could be persuaded to let you stay, since you’ve been forcing your so-called friendship on me for years as it is.”

“Yeah?”

Before Severus could say anything, Harry’s lips were pressing softly against his own. Surprised, he kissed back, eyes closing for a moment before he pulled away.

“Yeah.”

“In that case, let’s go back inside and say our goodbyes, so we can get home before you get too grumpy, hm?” Harry teased, connecting their lips in another brief but tender kiss before heading for the door.

Just like that, Severus felt lighter than he had in years. They’d need to talk about all of this when they got back home, but it certainly seemed like Harry loved him back. Years of thinking himself unlovable, and now, he’d somehow wound up with a live-in boyfriend without even trying. If all the time he’d spent suffering had earned him this, then it was worth it.

They were still holding hands as they walked back into the crowded sitting room, and he’d never felt more content.